Read Between the Lines
by misquotesandeighthnotes
Summary: Non-Magic AU. Regina is a famous author. Emma meets her at a book signing. Mary Margaret is there, too. It goes well.


**A/N** **: Hello, folks! I was organizing my writings and found this little unpublished diddy among the mix. I'm not sure if it will be a multi-chap or a one-shot, but I am sure that I am incredibly busy with college and no one should expect regular updates if I choose to move forward with this story. That being said, I hope you all enjoy! -R.**

"M! You have no idea how excited I am!" Emma gushed.

"How excited are you?" Mary Margaret asked, rolling her eyes. She already knew how excited her best friend was. Emma had told her every second since Mary Margaret had given her their plane tickets a month ago.

"Like, _sooo_ excited, M!" the blonde let out an uncharacteristic squeal. "I can't believe I'm here! I can't believe _we're_ here in a tiny town in the middle of Maine, meeting only the greatest writer of all time!"

"She's good, Ems, but really? The greatest?" the schoolteacher asked in return. "Better than Shakespeare, Dickens, Frost?"

"Oh my god, M! Is that even a question?" Emma exclaimed in return. "Of course she is. Have you even read her novels? They're dark, magical, beautiful perfection!"

"Thank you very much, my dear," a husky female voice sounded from in front of the duo. "I love hearing that people think I'm great, but I'd never call myself the greatest." Mary Margaret raised her brows at Emma, proving her point from earlier, just to be shot down by the author's next comment. "I also wouldn't call those men you listed off the greatest, either. I prefer women's writing in history. A certain Miss Emily Dickinson would be my top choice."

Emma's eyes widened impossibly larger. "Perfect," she whispered, her mind shouting so much more. The woman that stood before her now was gorgeous on the outside, the blush decorating her cheeks adding to her beauty. She was not _just_ perfect on the outside, though. She was obviously an intellectual being with a beautiful mind, if her books and apparent taste in literature was anything to go by.

"I'm assuming you like Dickinson, yourself?" the woman asked, receiving nothing in response except a slightly open mouth and a few small stutters.

"You'll have to excuse my friend," Mary Margaret intervened. "She's been on a plane all day and she's obviously very tired. Add that to the fact that she's meeting her all-time idol, and you get this bumbling mess," the petite brunette explained. "I don't mean to speak for Emma, but she's obviously having a bit of a struggle doing it for herself right now. Emma loves Emily Dickinson. In fact, she has a book of her complied poems in her office desk. She quotes them now and again, and loves trying to decipher what Dickinson was hinting at."

"Thank you for your insight, though I'm sure Emma would've gotten there eventually," the author said, holding back an eye roll, but not hiding her dislike of this woman. Turning back to Emma, the author softened her voice, "Listen, dear, I hate to say I'm on a schedule, but I am. I'd love to sign whatever you've brought with you before I must leave, however."

Emma held out three books to the brunette woman, grinning stupidly as she watched them be signed. When the author held the books back to the blonde, their hands met, and, like the over-used cliche in every romance novel that this particular author despised so very much, it seemed that sparks flew between the two.

"Thanks," Emma managed to squeak out, still staring at the woman she seemed so entranced by.

"My pleasure, Emma," the name rolled off the author's tongue easily, sounding almost sweet, a characteristic the woman was not known for. "You'll find my contact information on the card I stuck in one of your books. Feel free to speak with me whenever."

Emma nodded in return, unable to manage anything else. Her knees felt weak and her head was spinning. She smiled dumbly as Mary Margaret led her from the bookstore, nothing able to ruin her good mood, not even Mary Margaret's next words.

"Oh my God, what a witch!" Mary Margaret exclaimed.

"Don't talk about her that way!" Emma argued. "She was perfect."

"Did you hear the tone she used on me, Emma?" the brunette questioned. "I was just trying to help out, and she brings that unnecessary attitude into the conversation!"

"Are you talking about that velvety smooth, deep, gorgeous voice she has? Because I could listen to that all day long," Emma said, obviously not seeing Mary Margaret's problem. The blonde was still in a daze from the brunette author.

"Whatever," Mary Margaret gave up any attempts at swaying her friend's opinion of the other woman. "I guess I can forget about the very _rude_ way she acted, and focus on the bigger issue here," she paused for a moment, figuring her blonde friend would be able to fill in the blank, but Emma just stood there, staring off into the distance, still dazed by her meeting with her favorite author. "There is a bigger issue here, Emma!"

"Hmmm? What?" The blond questioned, snapping out of her stupor. She had the decency to look embarrassed by her love-struck actions. "Sorry, M. You were saying?"

"I was saying that you have to find an stunning outfit, romantic restaurant, and the courage to ask this woman out in… " Mary Margaret trailed off, checking her wrist watch, "approximately forty-seven hours."

"Why forty-seven?" Emma asked, eyes widening at the challenges ahead.

"Our plane leaves at seven p.m. on Sunday. It is a little after four p.m. right now, and we have to leave time to check our luggage, go through secur-."

"Why are we wasting time then?!" Emma interjected. "I gotta woo a pretty lady-author in forty-seven hours or less!"

"I would start by checking your grammar," Mary Margaret jested. She thought for a moment, "I would also be careful about calling her things like 'pretty lady-author' to her face. I don't think that would go over well, Ems."

"Mary Margaret, come on! You're holding me up!" her blonde friend yelled from nearly two blocks ahead as she dashed into the first of many high-end clothing stores on the street.

 _This is going to be interesting._ Mary Margaret thought, rolling her eyes.


End file.
